


And the reason is you

by hikaru90



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Panic Attacks, Post, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Song fic, lol I don’t know how to tag
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-21 18:43:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20698247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hikaru90/pseuds/hikaru90
Summary: He heard Robb's voice becoming a dramatic sigh on the other end of the line.Bad sign."I warn you, Theon: it won't be easy. I mentioned your likely return to the family a few weeks ago and... well, don't expect to be greeted with open arms. Although you are no longer the man of six years ago, some people still have fresh memories of your past actions.





	And the reason is you

**Author's Note:**

> Even if my first intention was to write a brief one-shot for the theonsa week, I’ve realized soon after reaching 7k words that my story was not finished yet. So I’ve decided to devide it in chapters. Here is the first one. (I still don’t know when I’ll publish the others, since I both write and edit slower then a sloth...)
> 
> Another important thing: as much as I love it, English is not, unfortunately, my first language.

**“I’m not a perfect person, there are many things I wish I didn’t do**

**But I continue learning**

**I never meant to do those things to you, and so I have to say before I go**

**That I just want you to know.”**

**\- “The reason” -**

Theon opened his eyes startled and, spitting out the water stuck in his throat, immediately closed them, unable to sustain the light of the environment.

He breathed in and out, trembling, curling up on himself and mentally wondering where he was.

Struggling between a cough and an involuntary spasm, he felt the pungent smell of chlorine tickling his nostrils and greeting him as gently as a punch in the gut, awakening his numbed senses by giving him the answer he’s been searching for. The firm solidity of the anti-slip flooring little by little become tangible to the left side of his body, abruptly bringing him back to the real world and forcing him to open his eyes again.

The focusing was slow, but the mist of erratic lights and shadows that he perceived at first was quickly substituted by a set of concrete forms. The first thing he recognized was the soaked heads lined up on the first lane of the swimming pool that eagerly looked out to...

_Oh no. Not again._

He would sink into the ground with shame if he hadn’t been busy trying to breathe.

Coughing was still shaking his body and burning his throat when familiar shuffling footsteps swept through the small crowd gathered around.

_Great. “Damp hair” saw the whole thing. This was exactly what I didn’t need._

He stayed curled up in fetal position just a little longer, before recovering his strength and getting up sustained by the poolside iron handles. He didn’t ask for the aid of the lifeguard uncle, even if every fiber of his being begged for help. That tiny scrap of self-respect that he still had turned it down.

He retrieved the sandals and the bathrobe placed on the rack next to the large windows and, keeping his head down, he crawled slowly toward the changing room, the buzz of bathers and service people accompanying his way.

In the shuffle, he heard his uncle yell at him before closing the door and pressing his forehead against the wall near his closet, but he ignored his words. They didn’t really matter.

What did matter was the fact that he had just lost consciousness in a public place in front of at least two dozen witnesses right on the eve of his departure from Pyke.

So much for a silent classy exit.

* * *

"So, have you made up your mind?"

Theon arranged the last couple of T-shirts in the suitcase recovered twenty minutes before in the attic and closed it definitively, placing it in front of the entrance door, cell stuck between the shoulder and his right ear in an impossible maneuver.

"Let me think: the therapy is over, I have just been disinherited by the family business, dear Uncle Aeron made me understand that there is no place for me at the sports center given my "precarious conditions". I would say that I no longer have reason to stay. So yes, I’ve decided. I’m coming back home."

He heard Robb's voice becoming a dramatic sigh on the other end of the line.

Bad sign.

"I warn you, Theon: it won't be easy. I mentioned your likely return to the family a few weeks ago and... well, don't expect to be greeted with open arms. Although you are no longer the man of six years ago, some people still have fresh memories of your past actions."

Theon nodded, rummaging through the shelves of the small table in search of the keys of the apartment, a thousand snapshots of recent and past events to suddenly invade his mind and make it difficult to search.

_"Why are you doing this? Have you hated us the whole time? "_

_"I've had enough of your advice."_

_"And of life? Do you have enough of that too? "_

_"Theon ... please ..."_

He closed his eyes for a moment and opened them again, breathing deeply to calm himself.

"I know. Luckily, you will be right there to cover my back."

"Mmmm... yes. There is actually another reason I have contacted you. You know how it is, just disturbing your pre-departure quietude didn't seem enough for me."

With the keys triumphantly retrieved from a pile of useless junk in his hands, Theon anxiously froze in the middle of the opening act.

"Another reason like what?"

And even if he couldn’t physically see him, he simply _knew_ that his best friend was grinning to his own detriment. Oh, yes he did.

"Well, you can't possibly expect me to come to your rescue in the middle of the courses and a month away from the beginning of the summer session! I am certainly not one of those knights with shining armor ready to help the damsel in distress on duty. Not this time. So I'm sorry, but you'll have to do this by yourself. At least the first few months. But I don't think it will be a problem since you told me you would be with your sister.”

Silence followed.

"Funny, Robb. I'm laughing."

"There, there! It's only for two months. I'm sure you'll make it."

He opened his mouth to fight back, but restrained himself, biting his tongue and putting a hand on his forehead, afflicted.

The Theon of a few years earlier probably would not have been spared and would have told him without too many preambles - shouting and adding three or four vulgarities just to make the message more incisive - that it was too easy for him to talk, since he was the straight arrow boy who had never done anything wrong in his life and that seemed to excel in everything he did. But admitting that thought aloud would mean on the one hand endangering a balance that he had laboriously built and still struggled to maintain, and on the other doing a huge offense to Robb, who not only had helped him to get back on his feet without asking anything in return, but he did it right in the darkest period of his life. He would have been ungrateful, and he didn't want to be that kind of person. Not anymore.

So he fell silent, putting the keys in the lock and closing for the last time what had become his home in the last three years.

"I'm serious, pal. You’re gonna be fine."

Theon sighed, suitcase in hand, quickly walking down the stairs and reaching a taxi that happened to be right in front of his building, but on the other side of the road. He beckoned to the taxi driver to see if he was waiting for someone, and only when the latter replied - after at least ten seconds, giving him the ok with obvious reluctance (probably because he had planned to have lunch, as he noticed by peering from the window the half sandwich wrapped in silver paper in the front seat) - he turned his attention to the man on the other side of the line.

"You _knew_ that you would be busy, and _despite that_, you deceived the best friend you have in the world, leading him on that he would have found a shoulder of support on his arrival at the airport just to give his lunch handed by phone? Bravo Robb. Well done."

"Oh, you're still there! I thought you’d interrupted the communication out of desperation! I haven't heard you talking for a full minute... "

"Who are you? Whatever happened to Robb Stark? "

"Oh? Now you’re quoting "Ha-"

"Damn, could you at least pretend to be sorry?"

“How much whining!” Robb told him laughing, putting the finger in the wound. But he added, in a slightly more serious tone: "Anyway, I didn't deceive anyone because I’ve never promised you that I'd been there. I’ve only said that I would’ve helped you, but I had the foresight not to specify whether this help would’ve happened in person or, you know, remotely. The omission is power, my dear naive friend. It’s YOU that should've remembered the burden to which every university student is subjected during this time of the year since it has not been long since this burden was also affecting you."

Theon shook his head, rubbing his forehead and looking sideways at the grumpy taxi driver - who, after placing his suitcase in the trunk, resumed his driving position and glared at him from the rearview mirror.

Taking this look like a clear warning signal, he opened the rear door of the car without further delay and settled himself between the passenger seats.

"Ok, as you say."

Robb, evidently taken aback by his short answer because they had laid the foundations for an endless squabble, seemed puzzled when he spoke the following words while he was pointing out his destination to the driver.

"Really? So we’re cool, right? "

"Of course not!"

"No?"

"No, not really," said Theon, resting his head wearily against the seat and admiring for the last time from the window the colorful bustle of fishermen and merchants in the port before the taxi turned and offered him a more gray and monotonous view. "But we’re cool _for now._ Lucky for you I have to suspend this conversation. That will be resumed very soon, let’s be clear. My frustration is far from having been vented, so be psychologically prepared to be harassed by at least twenty complaining messages a day once I get to Deepwood Motte. "

"Is this a threat?"

"What do you say?" And he closed his phone unceremoniously.

* * *

Reaching the airport with the typical morning gridlock was a real tragedy and Theon feared for a moment not to arrive in time, but the sulking guy behind the wheel, though unwilling to talk, seemed to really know his stuff, as he took several shortcuts he didn't even know existed. This reassured him. But just for a moment.

Because when he got to his destination and left the taxi, standing in front of the entrance to the immense Pyke airport, he suddenly realized that the program of all the things he had arranged to do would no longer be a set of confused thoughts in his mind but they would begin to take shape the moment he crossed that entrance.

And he was seized by a horrible panic attack.

His breath suddenly accelerated and his heart rose in his throat, the incessant tum-tum hammering his ears and confusing him, preventing him from concentrating.

He tried to counter the wave of symptoms that would follow, but the feeling of suffocation and agitation was too much, and Theon didn't make it.

He collapsed near a pillar a few meters from the entrance and put his hands in his hair, sick and dizzy, waiting for the living nightmare to pass and at the same time trying to remember the relaxation techniques taught him by Dr. Wendamyr.

_"I want to be honest with you: you will not always be able to predict when you will have a new attack. Sometimes your body will react in response to specific stimuli, but in many other circumstances, it will arise suddenly. Without any warning."_

_"What should I do in these cases?"_

_"Try to relax, as far as the situation makes it possible. Then do what I tell you."_

He closed his eyes, turning from reality and focusing on himself.

He inhaled slowly through his nose, filling his lungs with air. He held his breath for a few seconds and exhaled calmly between his half-closed lips, mentally counting five to one.

And again.

_Inhale._

_Five. Four. Three. Two. One._

_Exhale._

He repeated the breathing cycle and counted again a few times, always slowly, feeling his muscles progressively reduce the accumulated tension.

Once he realized he had the breathing under control, he opened his eyes and was surprised to find the view completely occupied by the taxi driver's face.

"Everything all right, boy?"

_Obviously not_, he thought. Instead, with a frozen smile and obvious sarcasm, he replied:

"Wonderfully."

"You forgot your luggage." Said the weird guy, arms folded and eyebrow raised almost to the hairline, carelessly ignoring the obvious lie. "And you didn't pay."

_Uh here! It seemed odd._

And he opened his wallet.

* * *

Contrary to expectations - not at all optimistic given the way things were going in the last few days - the plane ride went well. They arrived at Deepwood Motte in the scheduled half-hour and without hitting some crazy air pockets during the journey. In that half-hour, Theon had the opportunity to reflect on the words he would say to Yara once he arrived at the airport. Even though the silent treatment she had given him in those days almost suggested to him that she wouldn't have shown up.

The fact was that he had tried to contact his sister by phone and by text to warn her of his arrival, and more than once, but besides sending him a dry "See you at the ticket office" at 4:00 a.m. - a message that sounded more like a threat than a promise - she hadn't added anything else.

It would have been difficult to hope to be greeted by her with a grin and a vigorous pat on the back, especially if the last memory he had of Yara was her look full of resentment and resignation while he was running away from the pub she had run for a while in Pyke just as notorious band of local vandals assaulted them. As the good coward brother he would always be.

It had happened after Ramsey Bolton was brought to justice. A time when he was slowly recovering from years and years of abusive behavior. A tough period, probably the most difficult of his life. Ramsey had physically, mentally and sexually abused him. He had killed the Theon who had been - arrogant, selfish, devoted to pleasures and to the constant satisfaction of his own interests - and had reduced him to nothingness. Even now that he could no longer hurt him, remembering what he had done made him tremble.

His healing process was gradual. It was very difficult for him to return to acquire an identity after too much time spent in terror and oblivion of an existence that was not real life. Robb had helped him very much, but it was Yara who had woken him up from the numbness following the traumatic event with a symbolic shake by giving him a semblance of normality and by letting him work in the pub she had opened with her own pockets.

It was at that time that the raid took place.

And it was then that, fearing to relive an experience that he had no intention of recalling, the survival instinct prevailed and he left Yara at the mercy of four violent thugs ready to tear the room to shreds.

A vile act of which he would have been ashamed for the rest of his days.

Later he learned from the news that although the damage the band had left to the pub was serious, she had remained unharmed as she was promptly rescued by a police patrol that had been called by a fisherman from the area who had recognized the four men on the street.

He also discovered, by hearing part of a conversation exchanged between his three uncles, that Yara had been forced to close her place two weeks after the assault and to leave the Iron Islands in search of fortune elsewhere given that she couldn't save it with his own strength.

During that period, Balon Greyjoy was still alive, and the inability to hold back the only person he seemed to nurture a minimum of affection prompted him to vent all his frustrations against him, the only child left.

The outburst, however, did not last long, because not long after his father, who was already cardiopathic, died struck by a stroke during sleep, but the verbal ambush of sharp words, combined with the guilt that was already killing him inside from that tragic evening, was enough to convince Theon that he deserved every word.

And it was true. Everything that happened to him was a direct consequence of his bad decisions and his lack of spine. There was little to do.

He feared the moment when he and Yara would be face to face. He really feared it. But well aware of the fact that he could neither blame her nor prevent any accusation she certainly would have addressed him, Theon stopped thinking and got up from his seat, positioning himself among the line of people waiting in front of the exit door.

* * *

After a quick look at the enormous quadrant that adorned the upper part of the shop area on his right, Theon focused his attention for the umpteenth time on the wide corridor full of people, hoping to recognize the annoyed face of his sister among the passers-by.

But no dice, there was no sign of her.

Unsure of what to do, he took his cell phone to scroll through the phonebook list and call her, but at the last minute, he changed his mind and closed it.

He turned back to the corridor. Eagerly awaiting.

He was standing in a strategic position which allowed him to be easily distinguishable - also thanks to the garish mustard yellow shirt that although clashed with his fair complexion, it was of a fandom he loved, and therefore had to be worn - since he got off the plane, about a quarter of an hour earlier.

He was a little disappointed not to find Yara on the specified spot, but he waited confidently, being well aware that it was not in the nature of the sister to go back on her word. He moved a few steps further just to have a better view of his surroundings.

Two minutes passed.

Then five.

Ten.

Fifteen.

The more time passed without even the shadow of Yara's ghost showing up, the more he lost hope to see her again. Yet he continued to keep his gaze fixed in front of him.

_Please, tell me you're coming. Tell me you're just parking the car. Tell me you wasted your time getting a number from a girl you picked up at a nearby diner. Tell me that what I fear is not true and that I am not ridiculing myself by waiting for you here like an idiot-_

"On your right."

Theon turned abruptly, recognizing the voice, but he was caught off guard when, even before meeting her gaze, Yara stunned him by hitting him hard with a mighty punch. The violence of the impact was such that it forced him to retreat a few steps and hit some passers-by in the process. But he took the hit and kept his head down, knowing that he deserved the gesture and silently waiting for the string of harsh words that would have come against him.

Instead, against his better judgment and in stark contrast to the act of a few moments before, Yara surprised him again by enveloping him in a full-body hug that risked to make him lose his breath.

"I missed you, little brother."

At first, he didn't know what to do or say, but then he wrapped his arms around her back and returned the embrace with equal vigor, secretly grateful that the blood ties can undo any grievances.

* * *

After having given him some ice directly from the refrigerator, Yara went into the closet behind her small living room and then reappeared after a few seconds with a bottle of beer that she opened - with inhuman ease to say the least - with slight thumb pressure. She sipped it slowly, leaning her back against the wall and staring him sideways.

From the bottom of the chair on which he had collapsed since entering the apartment, Theon looked at her questioningly, wrapping the ice in a towel and leaning it against his aching cheek, wincing reflexively at the contact.

"What?"

"You look good," said Yara, sincere, her eyes lit by a light of pride he had never seen to address him. Unable to bear her sight, Theon looked away, feeling his sane cheek blazing and focusing on his consumed sneakers.

"Before the punch, I was even better."

"Oh, cut it out! It could have been much worse."

Keeping his eyes down, Theon smiled, remembering his sister's background, and in particular of an epic episode that had made her suspend from school for a week and in which she had beaten out a group of bullies two years older than her that had targeted her for her unconventional goth look.

Actually, he could consider himself lucky to have gotten off with only a swollen cheek, since if she had really wanted, their meeting at the airport could have culminated in a nice trip to the emergency room with a couple of cracked ribs and a head injury.

So for his safety, he didn't add anything else to that purpose. He cared about his skin.

He had to make one thing clear though.

"Much of what you see is not my merit. I had help. "

And it was not an exaggeration. He was helped by Robb, Dr. Wendamyr, the same Yara, _and yes_, Uncle Aeron to. He was so much helped that he felt he had minimally contributed to his physical and mental recovery.

But Yara gave him a grimace, unconvinced.

"Maybe. But do you really believe that the work of others would have been worth something if you had not the willpower to get up first? And in such a short time, among other things? "

He narrowed his lips in a row and this time he looked up at her, raising an eyebrow.

He had several points to dispute with that statement.

His recovery process, for example, was not at all short but had lasted three damn years, years in which he had not taken the initiative to do anything, if not continue to follow a monotonous routine made up of actions programmed by third parties and whose utility he had tacitly disputed every single day.

She said he had the will to get up, but he didn't see it that way. He had done nothing at all.

He had simply benefited from a program he had continued to follow out of a pure sense of habit. Nothing particularly exciting.

He wasn't even totally healed. Not that he had ever nurtured hope.

It’s not possible to recover from a lethal whirlwind of traumatic events.

And evidently, his line of thoughts could be read on his forehead, because after a while he saw Yara roll her eyes theatrically, visibly annoyed.

"Come on, let's change the subject. Maybe you’ll be a little more at ease. "

_Oh, thank God!_

"Now that you're back, what are you’re planningto do?" She said, settling on the small sofa and lifting her feet on its arm, the half-full bottle held upright between her thighs.

To that fair question - that perhaps a normal person would have formulated long before that moment, but it was common knowledge that Yara was anything but normal, so what did it matter? - Theon had a ready answer.

It could not be otherwise since he had mentally prepared it during the crossing of the Ironman’s Bay.

"Stay. And find a job, I guess. Parasite’s life is not for me. Thankfully, before Damp Hair kicked me out of the pool, I obtained the status of swimming instructor, so I already know where to turn my attention on. I could start by touring the public swimming pools and sports centers nearby to see if they have a vacancy on their team or if they are available to fit me in. And from there, move elsewhere. I’m not getting my hopes up, though. It would be my first experience. "

Yara took a long sip from the beer and nodded thoughtfully, weighing up his words.

Then she blurted out:

"Sounds like a plan. Worst case scenario, you can always help me at the pub like the old days. I opened another one just two kilometers from here. Same name. Same size. Same shitty customers. I would need an extra hand. And a friendly face who isn’t the omnipresent Tris. Seriously, I still don't know what prevents me from knocking him out whenever he speaks. "

Theon, who had always seen Tristifer Botley, her sister's best friend, as a mixture between a sticky mussel and a particularly loyal dog, had the feeling to know what was the real reason that held her back from taking drastic measures towards him.

Besides, Yara could have thrown him out of the pub at any time if she really considered him so insufferable. But she didn't seem to have done that yet.

"Perhaps the time has come for you to admit that being the object of his everlasting loyalty flatters you," he said in fact, giving voice to his thoughts. "There would be nothing wrong with that."

She glared at him.

"Don't start again. You still haven't told me what you think of my offer. "

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, concentrating on the ice wrapped in the towel and pressing it deeply on his cheek in a mere attempt to absorb more cold from it, almost hoping that the swelling would be reduced at will, ignoring all the principles of physics and thermodynamics.

Part of the reason he was stalling was to mask the surprise that the offer was considered in the first place.

Yara was giving him a second chance, deliberately ignoring the episode that had divided them, and he wasn't sure he deserved it.

He needed to think about it.

"’ I'll think about it’ does work for you?"

"I'll give you one day," she conceded, the now empty glass bottle threateningly pointed at him like a spiked bat. Then, shifting her gaze slightly downward, she added: "And take off that shirt! It's a punch in the eye! "

Theon, vaguely offended by the insult, but happy with that resemblance of normalcy found, put down the ice and knelt down, opening the suitcase at the foot of the sofa.

* * *

In the end, after he had walked around the swimming pools of the area and had miserably failed to get an answer different from the monotonous and pre-printed "We'll let you know, Mr. Greyjoy. In the meantime, you can leave us your CV. Thank you for showing interest to our company ", Theon, in order not to be a kept man at his sister's house, had succumbed to her offer to help her at the pub but had pointed out that it would be a temporary solution.

Yara had grunted something in reference to that possibility, but he knew very well that, under that mask of indifference, she was genuinely happy to have him with her, regardless of how much time they would spend together.

Three days after his reluctant "yes", the intense rhythms of the "Black Wind" had become for him a daily routine. In those days, he had spent many consecutive hours standing, with jets of heat coming from the motors of the refrigerators and from the most disparate sources, between the uninterrupted chatter of the never-satisfied clientele and the frequent squabbles between Tris and Yara, the impossible opening and closing hours to disrupt the already precarious waking/dream body cycles. And yet, even if he returned home almost always destroyed, he was satisfied.

He had missed being at the counter.

And interact with people. Look at them. Guess their preferences, their personalities, their links with other people.

Even during the time he had worked with Yara in Pyke and he was only a reflection of the person he was now, he had benefited from the strong contact with the public that this profession required more than he was prepared for.

Then, watching the customers interact was a way not to think about his problems.

Now, instead, it entertained him.

At the moment, for example, he was looking with a certain fascination at a strange couple - a tall man in his forties with a bit of a bald spot and a platinum-haired girl who was about his age - who were arguing animatedly at the corner of the piano bar, trying to understand what relationship there was between them.

Even if they didn't look like a de facto couple, there was a certain familiarity with the way they addressed each other. Even intimacy.

They did not resemble each other enough to be relatives, but the distance between them as they argued suggested to him that they were neither colleagues nor acquaintances.

_Friends, maybe? Lovers?_

He put his arms on the counter and tilted his head, continuing to watch them.

The position he was in allowed him to have an excellent view of the man, whose body was completely facing the girl and in whose eyes he could see a burning devotion that could hardly be misunderstood.

She was a more difficult subject to interpret, and not just because he could only see her from the side.

There was something in her statuesque bearing that gave her certain awe and at the same time emanated a sort of undefined royalty that would have made anyone feel uncomfortable. And yet, that same mask of rigidity seemed to have no effect on the man standing in front of her, who instead seemed perfectly relaxed.

_And then-_

"Oi, you!"

Flickering his fingers to attract his attention, a stocky guy in his thirties, flushed face, a crooked smile, and an inveterate playboy's face, pointed arrogantly to an empty liquor glass in front of him. "Another round of this. Now."

_Him again. Fantastic._

Reluctantly, Theon decided to let the couple go and quickly added whiskey to the customer's glass, trying to sound sincere as he apologized for being distracted.

The man - a regular at the pub who spent his time bragging about everything he had or had been given by birth, right and merit (an attitude which unfortunately he was very familiar with) - absently accepted his apology and, emptying the glass in one gulp, joined a mixed group of equally tipsy men and women who seemed to know him and who made a great noise at a table in the center of the room.

With his jaw clenched, he took a damp cloth to clean a sticky part of the counter, hoping that the imbecile would be comfortable where he had taken refuge.

"Harry Hardyng is an idiot," Yara grumbled behind him. "But apparently so are you."

He turned to face her, rubbing guiltily at the back of his neck with the palm of his hand.

"Oops, I did it again."

"Don't Britney Spears to me," she said, pointing a finger at him. "You said you would be more careful."

"Er... I'm sorry?"

Yara sighed, exasperated. But unexpectedly she relaxed a little later, putting down the three bottles that she had enjoyed whirling in the air a few minutes before in the main figures of flair bartending to put on airs in front of a small group of screaming girls.

"I'll let it go this once. I can allow you to be distracted if the source of your absent-mindedness is that smoking-hot girl. It seems strange to me indeed that you only noticed her now, and not when she entered the pub two hours ago like all of us."

Theon, confused, went back to fix the corner of the counter, but realizing to whom Yara referred, he raised his hands and hurried to clarify. She had totally misunderstood the reason for his distraction.

"I wasn't looking at her for the reason you think. I wasn't even looking at her specifically. "

"Sure. As you say," she commented, smiling slyly.

"Seriously, it's not even my type."

At that, she looked at him bewildered.

"Why? Do you have a type? "And, staring languidly at the woman who was the subject of conversation from head to toe, she added, in a dreamy voice that he wasn't sure he'd ever heard her: ”That girl is anyone's type. Are you sure about what you’re saying? "

Tris, who passed there by chance, cleared his throat noisily, setting a crate of beers next to one of the spare refrigerators with a definitely unnecessary crash. Yara ignored him but looked at the cans grimly. Theon, amused, shook his head, murmuring a "Sure, sure," as he bent down to put the beers into their place.

And he was serious.

Although he was not immune to the attractiveness of the female gender and was still able to appreciate the beauty of a woman objectively pleasing to the eye as the one examined above, Theon was no longer interested in that fleeting moment of lust that the adolescent himself searched without any criterion in any girl he considered fuckable.

As a consequence of the years of abuse suffered by him from Ramsey and his gang, he had developed a defense mechanism towards people that had unintentionally led him to mature from a relational and emotional point of view. So he had become more aware of the type of girls that really attracted him. More selective about the kind of person he wanted to have by his side.

And yes, despite Yara's strong concerns about it, he _did_ have a type.

He was still thinking about it when he had the distinct sensation of being watched by someone.

He turned around, trying to figure out who he or she was, and his eyes met those of a lone figure entirely dressed in black who was examining him leaning against a pillar near the entrance of the pub. The customers grouped in that part of the room prevented him from immediately understanding who he was, but when he sharpened his sight and recognized the angular contours of the observer's face, he winced.

His presence in that place was almost surreal like that of a ghost.

Yet, it was not a mirage.

Jon Snow was really there.

* * *

While Jon continued to stare at him unperturbed from a certain distance, Theon wondered if it was wiser to ignore him, giving him the possibility to choose as and when to approach the counter, or to take courage and face him himself, perhaps offering him a drink. In the latter case, he would also have had to think of the best way to tactfully approach him without potentially triggering a customer-dropping scene or an episode similar to the one he had had with his sister a few days before. Not an easy choice, as there was a very high chance that their confrontation would have ended in exactly one of those two ways.

He took a deep breath, worried.

On the list of all the people he would have expected to meet on his first week in Westeros, Jon Snow, the sixth unofficial member of the Stark family, surely wasn't included. And if approaching any Stark without re-enacting the events that had forever stained the purity of his ties with the family would have been difficult under normal conditions, with Jon Snow this difficulty had to be tripled, and not only because he was certain that his strong-rooted sense of honor and justice had considered him a lost cause at the very moment he had given rise to the chain of events that had led him to his personal tragedy.

He and Jon had never been on good terms even during the good times, when he had frequented the Stark manor in Winterfell almost like a second home. They tolerated each other in large part to please Robb, who could not bear to see them arguing.

Consequently, understanding how to deal with him was a real challenge, especially if one took into consideration the six years that had passed since the last time they saw each other.

However, Jon unexpectedly took away the trouble of puzzling him further and took the initiative, detaching himself from the pillar to which he seemed to be stuck and approaching silently to the counter, waving to Yara with his chin to simulate a greeting that she returned with almost as much coldness.

The exchange would have made him smile under normal circumstances, but the weight of Jon's intense gaze - which in the meantime had comfortably sat on a nearby stool - had the power to crystallize his facial expression and block him in place.

Theon held his gaze, short of words.

"Greyjoy"

"Snow?"

Jon looked briefly at the bottles on the shelf behind him, adding "A gin tonic, please" before turning his attention back to Theon and resting his elbows on the counter, waiting.

He did not wait for him to repeat his words and prepared the required drink by adding club soda and gin in a medium-length glass that he garnished with rosemary and lime. All without saying anything, the buzzing of the people around to accompany his every gesture.

The silence that had been created between them lasted longer than necessary, continuing even after the drink was prepared and consumed within a few seconds, with the result that from oppressive became embarrassing.

It was necessary for at least one of them to say something.

Anything.

"Jon, listen-"

"You got some nerve to return to the continent as if nothing had happened after all you've done to our family. Are you at least aware of not being welcome here? "

Theon gasped at Jon's venomous words but nodded. Noticing him, Jon changed his typical frown in an unbearable pitiful expression that forced him to look away for a few moments.

"Honestly when Robb told me you'd come back I didn't know what to think. The treatment you received from Ramsey was atrocious, I recognize it, but I can't close my eyes and pretend that that fire never happened. Bran and Rickon could have died if Hodor had not been around."

Theon made his mind wander, retracing with bitter familiarity the last moments that had decreed the end of his relationship with the Starks. He remembered Ramsey's screams, that prompted him to make a move. His hesitance. Rickon's crying in the dining room. The echo of Bran's words, unable to escape from his own home, on the back of his head as he locked the front door. The lingering smell of gasoline. The fire spread in the west area of the old manor.

_"Why are you doing this? Have you hated us the whole time? "_

There was no day he got up without feeling regretful. But remorse would certainly not have brought him back in time.

Jon continued: "Whatever you're trying to prove with your return, I can't forget what you did. If it's forgiveness what you want, I'm not sure I can grant it."

"I don't want to be forgiven."

"Then why are you here?"

_To do the right thing_, he thought at one go. But he opted for a half-truth that might have made him less miserable to Jon’s eyes:

"I grew up there. There was no longer any constraint that kept me in Pyke. It made no sense to stay. "

Jon seemed to weigh his words, not knowing whether to believe them or not. Finally, he asked him:

"Are you going to visit Winterfell?"

Theon swallowed.

"You know I will. Sooner or later."

Jon stared at him, frowning, but didn't object.

They remained silent for a while.

Then Theon, unable to hold back any longer, finally formulated the first of the questions he had asked himself since Jon had caught his eye:

"Sansa... is she alright?"

The question unexpectedly aroused Yara's interest - until then relegated to a corner to wash an endless pile of dirty glasses - that from his peripheral view he distinctly noticed taking his eyes off the sink and turning to look at him with curiosity. But he ignored her, eagerly waiting.

Luckily, Jon did that too, too busy counting the money to pay for his drink to notice his sister's look.

"She opened an antique shop." He said absently, as he got up and laid the money he owed him on the counter. He grimaced. "I don't know much about what she is dealing with. In my eyes what she sells is a confusing set of objects of doubtful utility picked up from various unknown places of Essos. But the activity seems to make her happy. "

Theon was pleased.

The last memory he had of Sansa Stark was her face, pale, sad and resigned as she accepted some of the money he had stolen from Ramsey shortly after their escape from the residence. Money that would have helped her to pay for the journey from Dreadfort to Winterfell.

A bitter-sweet memory on which he had lingered longer than he wanted to admit in the three years that had passed since that moment.

Although Robb had kept him informed of her safe return home and of the improvement of her conditions, knowing from Jon's lips that she was happy cheered him up even more.

But before he left, he had one last thing to say:

"Jon, why did you come?"

He gave him a cryptic look.

"I don't know. Perhaps because I wanted to verify with my own eyes that you had actually returned. Or maybe because I wanted to be the first to have the honor of smashing your face. But judging from your cheek, I've already been preceded."

Yara coughed. Theon thinned his lips in a line. As for Jon, he was about to turn his back on him, but at the last moment, he hesitated.

He shifted the weight of his body between one leg and another, undecided. He spent a little time cleaning an invisible stain on his dark jeans. Then, with sad eyes, he said solemnly:

"I think it's right to warn you too since you've got to know him as well as all of us. Friar Luwin died this morning. The funeral will be held tomorrow in Winterfell in the early afternoon."

Theon held his breath, feeling the earth fall from his feet.

He placed his hands on the counter, seeking stability and doing everything he could to mask his bewilderment to Jon. He nodded and thanked him for the information.

It was only after he was sure that Jon had left the place that he rushed to the warehouse where they kept their spare materials and locked the door. Then, he leaned his back against the wall and slid down, resting his head on his knees, his mind a thousand miles away from where he was.

_"I've had enough of your advice!"_

_"And of life? Do you have enough of that too? "_

_"Of course not! And what does that even mean? I'm not doing anything potentially fatal... "_

_"If you really think that hang out with a Bolton is not already a death sentence, then you’ve got it worse than I have imagined."_

_"N-It's not like you think. I..."_

_"Son, I will not pretend to have affection for you. Not when every gesture you make is a direct insult to the memory of Catelyn and Ned. But I don't hate you either. I can't, I saw you growing up. You are not the man you’re pretending to be. Not yet."_

_"..."_

_"Theon, you can still choose."_

_"You may... be right. But I’ve gone too far to pretend I’ve still the possibility to pull back."_

Friar Luwin - who had been very close to the Stark family in the period following the untimely death of Ned and Catelyn due to a tragic car accident - was a very old man he had known in the years between adolescence and adulthood.

He knew he didn't have much time left to live. He shouldn't have been surprised by his death.

Yet, he had hoped to still have time to talk to him and tell him how much the conversation they had before everything rushed has meant to him, regardless of how things ended up. He would have liked to thank him for being the only one to have seen a glimpse of insecurity in his impeccable mask of arrogance. He wanted to tell him that he had been a fool for not having listened to him when he still had a chance to choose and make the right choice. He wanted to ask him if he could ever be a modern prodigal son, a better person than he had been, or if he was destined to be a coward.

But this opportunity had been foreclosed to him forever.

In the deafening silence of the warehouse, with the only company of the aligned merchandise on the various shelves, Theon wept bitterly.


End file.
